


The Lay of Leithian: Game of Thrones Edition

by ATMachine



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATMachine/pseuds/ATMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the sex and violence you never knew you wanted from the good Professor.</p><p>Updated 04/06/2015, with further additions and revisions to Chapter 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warnung und Disclaimer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The operagoers arrive at the theatre.

**Avertissement**

 

**The Lay of Leithian: Game of Thrones Edition**

a small fanfic by ATM

 

Because sometimes my mind is twisted like this. **XD**

 

 **NOTE:** This fanfic is an audacious attempt to rewrite certain fragmentary bits of JRR Tolkien’s legendarium in his own inimitable style. Accordingly, excerpts from _The Silmarillion_ , _The Book of Lost Tales, Part II_ , and _The Lays of Beleriand_   (volumes 2 and 3 of Christopher Tolkien's _The History of Middle-Earth_ series) feature in the text, interwoven with my own writing. The original works are under copyright to the Tolkien Estate, and I claim no rights therein.

 

With that said… On with the show!

 **Last Updated 04/06/2015:** New material added to chapter 3 (again)!


	2. Vorspiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The audience take their seats.

**Prélude**

 

Many Victorian fiction authors sometimes wrote _deliberately incorrect_ and seemingly absurd passages into their books, especially in moments touching on sexuality. This was done so that only people who were mature enough to understand what was in all likelihood _really_ happening would interpret the text correctly.

This practice was not at all uncommon among Victorian writers, even those working in non-fiction fields. For example, popular English-language medical textbooks of the day switched to Latin to describe ailments of the genitals, or other material that might be considered “prurient.”

Of course, this style of fiction writing expects that the reader be prepared to look for such code phrases. Yet, equally, it asks that its readers exercise their own _imaginations_.

\--Wolfgang Löwe von Siegburg, _Nietzsche’s Abyss: The Hypocritical Tendency in Victorian English Culture_ (translated from the German)

 

_“The old man is the boy repeated.”_

\--Old Latin proverb


	3. 1. Aufzug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curtain rises. The orchestra begins to play.

**Actus Primus, Scena Prima**

 

“Lo! We have heard of the glory of the kings of the people of the Spear-Danes in days of yore – how those princes did valorous deeds!”

\--Opening of _Beowulf_

 

> Then clearly thrilled her voice and rang;
> 
> with sudden ecstasy she sang
> 
> a song of nightingales she learned
> 
> and with her Elvish magic turned
> 
> to such bewildering delight
> 
> the moon hung moveless in the night.
> 
> And this it was that Beren heard,
> 
> and this he saw, without a word,
> 
> enchanted dumb, yet filled with fire
> 
> of such a wonder and desire
> 
> that all his mortal mind was dim;
> 
> her magic bound and fettered him,
> 
> and faint he leaned against a tree.
> 
> Forwandered, wayworn, gaunt was he,
> 
> his body sick and heart gone cold,    
> 
> grey in his hair, his youth turned old;   
> 
> for those that tread that lonely way   
> 
> a price of woe and anguish pay.   
> 
> And now his heart was healed and slain
> 
> with a new life and with new pain.

 

\--from _The Lay of Leithian_ , canto III

 

> He recked not now the burning road,
> 
> the paths demented where he strode
> 
> endlessly... and ever new    
> 
> horizons stretched before his view,
> 
> as each blue ridge with bleeding feet
> 
> was climbed, and down he went to meet    
> 
> battle with creatures old and strong   
> 
> and monsters in the dark, and long,        
> 
> long watches in the haunted night        
> 
> while evil shapes with baleful light
> 
> in clustered eyes did crawl and snuff
> 
> beneath his tree - not half enough         
> 
> the price he deemed to come at last
> 
> to that pale moon when day had passed,
> 
> to those clear stars of Elfinesse,
> 
> the hearts-ease and the loveliness.

 

\--from _The Lay of Leithian_ , canto III

 

> Then groping she found her little shears,     
> 
> and cut the hair about her ears,
> 
> and close she cropped it to her head,
> 
> enchanted tresses, thread by thread.
> 
> Thereafter grew they never more;
> 
> her shining hair was one with yore.

 

\--from _The Lay of Leithian_ , canto V

 

It is told in the Lay of Leithian how Lúthien escaped from the house in Hírilorn; for she put forth her arts of enchantment, and caused her hair to grow to great length, and cut it off. And from the severed hair she wove a dark robe that wrapped her beauty like a shadow, and it was laden with a spell of sleep. Of the strands of her hair that remained she twined a rope, and she let it down from her window; and as the end swayed above the guards that sat beneath the house they fell into a deep slumber. Then Lúthien climbed down the rope of her hair, but she did not reach the ground by it; for the tree in which Elu Thingol had imprisoned his only daughter was the tallest in all Doriath, and the greater part of her ensorcelled hair had gone into the making of her cloak of darkness.

Discovering this only in the act of her descent, Lúthien hesitated but one moment only, and then jumped from her lofty prison to the earth below. She broke her leg in the fall, yet she stinted not in her resolve to quit her father’s kingdom and rescue her mortal lover from the Lord of Werewolves. So Lúthien shrouded herself in the shadowy cloak of darkness that hid her from all eyes, and, wincing in pain with every other step, she vanished out of Doriath.

 

\--from _The Silmarillion_ , chapter 19, “Of Lúthien and Beren”

 

> Never to Doriath would he fare
> 
> save guarded fast to leave her there;
> 
> never to Nargothrond would go
> 
> with her, lest there came war and woe;
> 
> and never would in the world untrod
> 
> to wander suffer her, worn, unshod;
> 
> to water grass not with dew sweet,
> 
> but life's-blood from her bleeding feet;
> 
> to die in dark woods, whom he drew
> 
> with love from the hidden realms she knew.

 

\--from _The Lay of Leithian_ , Canto X

 

Then Beren and Lúthien went through the Gate, and down the labyrinthine stairs; and together wrought the greatest deed that has been dared by Elves or Men. For they came to the seat of Morgoth in his nethermost hall that was upheld by horror, lit by fire, and filled with weapons of death and torment. But Morgoth was not deceived by their disguises, and was aware of them even as they entered his throne room. There the Dark Lord’s guards seized Beren and bore him away to the deep dungeons of Angband; but what became of Lúthien Beren knew not.

Full many days passed before Beren emerged again, and that was at the bidding of Morgoth himself. For the Dark Lord hoped to break Beren’s will, even as in after days he would seek to break Húrin sire of Túrin Turambar in like manner.

In Morgoth’s throne hall, whither he was conducted by his jailors, Beren beheld a sight that shook him to his marrow. His beloved Lúthien sat upon a newly raised throne next to that of the Dark Lord, and she wore an iron crown like unto Morgoth’s upon her own brow, with one of the three shining Silmarils of Fëanor locked in its vice-like grasp.

Beneath the cold iron of that terrible crown the device of Morgoth, the Black Sun, was branded in white outline upon her forehead. For even Morgoth did not wish to sully overmuch the strange unearthly paleness of Lúthien’s flesh. Moreover he desired that every Elf and Man who beheld her should be reminded thenceforth of the Dark Lord’s greatest triumph: the destruction of the Two Trees, the lights of the Gods themselves, in Valinor across the Sea.

At Beren’s entrance Lúthien rose from her throne.

To his horror, Lúthien announced that she was now become the willing bride of Morgoth Bauglir, the Great Enemy of the Eldar. Together she and the Dark Lord planned to conquer the whole of Middle-earth, and subjugate it beneath his sinister might for ever.

Yet even Morgoth was not above bargaining. For the sake of their prior romance, Lúthien said, she and Morgoth were willing to divide the three Silmarils equally, and let Beren take one for his own. Should he accept, Beren would be lord over one-third of all Middle-earth. Should he refuse, he would be tortured until he slipped forever into the torments of irrevocable insanity; were he to beg for death, no matter how piteously, it would not be granted him.

Beren paused, and took thought for a moment before speaking at last.

To take the Silmaril on such terms, he said, would make him no better than Morgoth himself, who had slain uncounted numbers of Elves and Men in his ceaseless wars against the fabric of creation. Indeed, it would make him no better than the sons of Fëanor, who had so cruelly ravished his beloved Elf-maiden, and got a child upon her, and knocked half her teeth from her mouth with their mailed fists, when she resisted their lecheries. No, he would—he _must_ —refuse. He could not do otherwise.

Lúthien’s pale face reddened with fury. She told her new paramour, the Enemy of Life, that he should reconsider his decision. To continue living, even as a half-wit, was too kind a fate for such a churl as this mere Man.

Beren must die forthwith. And she herself would slay him.

Now before this sentence could be carried out, Beren asked for one last boon for himself, in memory of their ancient love. He asked that she slay him not outright, as a defenceless, weaponless man, but rather meet him in single combat, as Morgoth himself did with the High King Fingolfin so long ago before the gates of Angband.

To this Lúthien consented, albeit unwillingly. She bade her Orc-captains bring Beren his Dwarvish knife, Angrist, which he had taken from the cold corpse of the wily Curufin, now laid beside that of his brother Celegorm in the dirt beneath the trees of Brethil forest. For herself Lúthien took up Morgoth’s black blade, whose name is unknown and unrecorded even among the Elves; for they would gladly have forgotten it who had ever chanced to hear it named aright.

And so, before the throne of the Dark Lord Morgoth, their duel commenced.

Lúthien slashed at Beren’s cheek, marring his flesh and spoiling the growth of beard there, while for his part Beren sundered the tip of one of her Elven ears. But Lúthien’s footing was uncertain, due to her lame leg, and she was unaccustomed to the art of swordplay; whereas Beren, who had become expert with many kinds of blade in the harsh school of the woods of Nan Dungortheb, was the surer of hand and eye. And, thinking his fair Tinúviel dead for evermore, he struck home at her breast, aiming to kill.

Nonetheless, Lúthien’s keen Elven eyes alerted her to the blow even as it fell, and she moved to parry it. Beren’s hand, deflected, sliced downward in a way he had not intended. The blow struck was not fatal, yet the sharp edge of Dwarven steel made a grievous mark; the Elf-maiden’s left aureole was sliced away.

But Beren had not known that Lúthien was forced to drink of an evil brew devised by Morgoth, which clouded her wits and made her forget the face of her true love. In the clarity of her pain, this dark enchantment fell away, and she knew her lover’s face once more.

Yet she instantly perceived the peril for both of them, should she reveal before Morgoth that she had returned to herself. Therefore Lúthien continued their duel as before, and seizing a chance presented in the sword-play, disabled Beren with a blade-thrust to the thigh, such that one of his cods was severed. Then, claiming victory, she seared her wounded breast with a fiery brand, and had Beren returned to the dungeon whence he came, where he should dwell in pain and fear that night, and be executed on the morrow.

That night, Lúthien drugged the wine of Morgoth and his Orc-chieftains, and kept them amused until the drugged drink sent them into unstirring sleep. Then she climbed down from her high throne in that dark hall, and went down to the dungeon where Beren was kept in durance, and released her lover from his bonds.

Great was the joy of their reunion. But they had no time to celebrate, for the drug Lúthien had used was but little known to her, and Morgoth might awaken at any time.

 So they two fled, heedless and without disguise, desiring only to see the light once more. They were neither hindered nor pursued, but the Gate was held against their going out; for Carcharoth had arisen from sleep, and stood now in wrath upon the threshold of Angband. Before they were aware of him, he saw them, and sprang upon them as they ran.

Lúthien was spent, and she had not time nor strength to quell the wolf. But Beren strode forth before her, and in his right hand he held aloft the Silmaril. Carcharoth halted, and for a moment was afraid. 'Get you gone, and fly!' cried Beren; 'for here is a fire that shall consume you, and all evil things.' And he thrust the Silmaril before the eyes of the wolf.

 

\--from _The Silmarillion_ , chapter 19, “Of Lúthien and Beren”

 

> As Beren swooned upon the ground
> 
> Tinúviel her courage found,
> 
> and sprang before the slavering beast:
> 
> "Vile monster, end your feast!
> 
> By Manwe and by Elbereth,
> 
> you shall not stay this man's breath."
> 
>  
> 
> The wolf-father paid her no heed.
> 
> Rather than listen to her rede
> 
> Carcharoth snarled with venomous wrack.
> 
> Before the Elf-maid could step back
> 
> one forelimb flashed out like a saw.
> 
> His razor-tipped obsidian claws
> 
> fell full upon Lúthien's face;
> 
> one eye forever lost its grace.
> 
> From that day forth she walked half-blind.
> 
> Yet in that hour paid she no mind
> 
> to her most grievous injury.
> 
> The time had come for them to flee
> 
> or perish in the Dark Lord's lair.
> 
> In life or death, one fate they would share.

 

\--from _The Lay of Leithian_ , canto XV

 

They bore back Beren Camlost son of Barahir upon a bier of branches with Huan the wolfhound at his side; and night fell ere they returned to Menegroth. At the feet of Hírilorn the great beech Lúthien, now delivered of her second child, met them walking slow, and some bore torches beside the bier. There she set her arms about Beren, and kissed him bidding him await her beyond the Western Sea; and he looked upon her eyes ere the spirit left him. But the starlight was quenched and darkness had fallen even upon Lúthien Tinúviel. Thus ended the Quest of the Silmaril; but the Lay of Leithian, Release form Bondage, does not end.

For the spirit of Beren at her bidding tarried in the halls of Mandos, unwilling to leave the world, until Lúthien came to say her last farewell upon the dim shores of the Outer Sea, whence Men that die set out never to return. But the spirit of Lúthien fell down into darkness, and at the last it fled, and her body lay like a flower that is suddenly cut off and lies for a while unwithered on the grass.

Then a winter, as it were the hoar age of mortal Men, fell upon Thingol, livened only by the laughter of the infant Dior, and of his elder brother Celebrimbor, the sons of the Elven-king's departed daughter. But Lúthien came to the halls of Mandos, where are the appointed places of the Eldalië, beyond the mansions of the West upon the confines of the world. There those that wait sit in the shadow of their thought. But her beauty was more than their beauty, and her sorrow deeper than their sorrows; and she knelt before Mandos and sang to him.

The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall ever hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and the listening the Valar grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since.

Therefore he summoned Beren, and even as Lúthien had spoken in the hour of his death they met again beyond the Western Sea. But Mandos had no power to withhold the spirits of Men that were dead within the confines of the world, after their time of waiting; nor could he change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. He went therefore to Manwë, Lord of the Valar, who governed the world under the hand of Ilúvatar; and Manwë sought counsel in his inmost thought, where the will of Ilúvatar was revealed.

These were the choices that he gave to Lúthien. Because of her labours and her sorrow, she should be released from Mandos, and go to Valimar, there to dwell until the world's end among the Valar, forgetting all griefs that her life had known. Thither Beren could not come. For it was not permitted to the Valar to withhold Death from him, which is the gift of Ilúvatar to Men. But the other choice was this: that she might return to Middle-earth, and take with her Beren, there to dwell again, but without certitude of life or joy, and without the power of generation which had once rested in their bodies. Then she would become mortal, and subject to a second death, even as he; and ere long she would leave the world for ever, and her beauty become only a memory in song.

This latter doom she chose. From her own head Lúthien tore her one sighted eye, and entrusted it to Mandos, as a pledge of surety against her return to his halls for evermore. Thus did Lúthien Tinúviel forsake the Blessed Realm, and put aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that whatever grief might lie in wait, the fates of Beren and Lúthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalië she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, thought all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost.

 

\--from _The Silmarillion_ , chapter 19, “Of Lúthien and Beren”

 

Now were the warriors on the far bank wreathed in battle and rallying sought to come at their foes, but these fled nimbly before them, while others poured still the hail of arrows upon them, and thus got the Eldar few hurts and the Dwarf-folk fell dead unceasingly. Now was that great fight of the Stony Ford drawn nigh to Naugladur, for even though Naugladur and his captains led their bands stoutly never might they grip their foe, and death fell like rain upon their ranks until the most part broke and fled, and a noise of clear laughter echoed from the Elves thereat, and they forebore to shoot more, for the ill-shapen figures of the Dwarves as they fled, their white beards torn by the wind, filled them with mirth.

But now stood Naugladur and few were about him, and he remembered the words of Melian, for behold, Lúthien came towards him and she cast aside her bow, and drew a bright sword; and Lúthien Tinúviel was of great stature among the Eldar, albeit not of the girth and breadth of Naugladur of the Dwarves. For though one of her eyes was blind and the other wanting from its hollow, yet was her prowess with bow and blade alike waxen greater with each passing year.

Then said Lúthien: “Ward thy life an thou canst, O crook-legged murderer, else will I take it,” and Naugladur bid her even the Nauglamír, the necklace of wonder, that he be suffered to go unharmed; but Tinúviel said: “Nay, that may I still take when thou art slain,” and thereat she made alone upon Naugladur and his companions, and having slain the foremost of these the others fled away amid elfin laughter, and so Lúthien came upon Naugladur, slayer of Thingol her father. Then did that aged one defend himself doughtily, and 'twas a bitter fight, and many of the Elves that watched for love and fear of their captain fingered their bow-strings, but Lúthien called even as she fought that all should stay their hands.

Now little doth the tale tell of wounds and blows of that affray, save that Tinúviel got many hurts therein, and many of her shrewdest blows did little harm to Naugladur by reason of the skill and magic of his Dwarven mail; and it is said that three hours they fought and Lúthien's arms grew weary, but not those of Naugladur accustomed to wield his mighty hammer at the forge, and it is more than like that otherwise would the issue have been but for the curse of Mîm.

For marking how Lúthien grew faint Naugladur pressed her ever more nearly, and the arrogance that was of that grievous spell came into his heart, and he thought: “I will slay this Elf, and her folk will flee in fear before me,” and grasping his war-hammer he dealt a mighty blow and cried: “Take here thy bane, O stripling of the woods.” And that martel fell full upon Lúthien's nose, letting a geyser of blood as the bones brake thereunder, and from that hour the beauteous form of Tinúviel's slight and shapely nose was forever marred.

Stunned with pain the Elf-chieftainess reeled back, and Naugladur swung his hammer once more, seeking to press his advantage unto victory. Yet even in that moment his foot found a jagged stone upon the riverbed, and he stumbled forward, but Tinúviel slipped aside from that blow and catching at his beard her hand found the carcanet of gold upon his breast. Therewith she swung Naugladur suddenly off his feet upon his face; and Naugladur's hammer was shaken from his grasp, but Lúthien seized it and slew him therewith, for she said: “I will not sully my bright blade with thy dark blood, since there is no need.” But the body of Naugladur was cast into the Gelion.

 

\--from _The Book of Lost Tales, Part II_ , chapter IV, “The Nauglamír”

 

In that battle by Sarn Athrad Beren and Lúthien fought their last fight, and Lúthien herself slew the Lord of Nogrod, and wrested from him the Necklace of the Dwarves; but he dying laid his curse upon all the treasure. Then Beren gazed in wonder on the selfsame jewel of Fëanor that they had won from Morgoth's iron crown, now shining set amid gold and gems by the cunning of the Dwarves; and he washed it clean of blood in the waters of the river. And when all was finished the treasure of Doriath was drowned in the River Ascar, and from that time the river was named anew, Rathlóriel, the Goldenbed; but Lúthien and Beren took the Nauglamír and returned to Tol Galen. Little did it ease the grief of Melian to learn that the Lord of Nogrod was slain and many Dwarves beside.

But it is said and sung that Lúthien wearing that necklace and that immortal jewel was the vision of greatest beauty and glory that has ever been outside the realm of Valinor. Her other raiment was but scanty, for she gloried in the bodily scars which she had suffered to give new hope to Men and Elves. For the recovery of the Silmaril which Beren and Lúthien had achieved was a thing long held impossible by the wise among the Eldar, and it led folk to believe that ultimate victory against Morgoth, so long despaired of, might yet be possible. And so for a little while the Land of the Dead that Live became like a vision of the land of the Valar, and no place has been since so fair, so fruitful, or so filled with light.

Now Dior Thingol's heir bade farewell to Beren and Lúthien, and departing from Lanthir Lamath with Nimloth his wife he came to Menegroth, and abode there; and with them went their young sons Eluréd and Elurín, and Elwing their daughter. Then the Sindar received them with joy, and they arose from the darkness of their grief for fallen kin and King and for the departure of Melian; and Dior Eluchíl set himself to raise anew the glory of the kingdom of Doriath.

 

There came a night of autumn, and when it grew late, one came and smote upon the doors of Menegroth, demanding admittance to the King. He was a lord of the Green-elves hastening from Ossiriand, and the door-wards brought him to where Dior sat alone in his chamber; and there in silence he gave to the King a coffer, and took his leave. But in that coffer lay the Necklace of the Dwarves, wherein was set the Silmaril; and Dior looking upon it took it for a sign that Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel had died indeed, and gone where go the race of Men to a fate beyond the world.

Long did Dior gaze upon the Silmaril, which his father and mother had brought beyond hope out of the terror of Morgoth; and his grief was great that death had, it seemed, come upon them so soon. But those who are accounted wise have said that the Silmaril hastened their end; for the flame of the beauty of Lúthien as she wore it was too bright for mortal lands.

Then Dior arose, and about his neck he clasped the Nauglamír; and now he appeared as the fairest of all the children of the world, of threefold race: of the Edain, and of the Eldar, and of the Maiar of the Blessed Realm.

 

\--from _The Silmarillion_ , chapter 22, “Of the Ruin of Doriath”

 

_"”Who the point on my spear feareth, shall pass through the fire ne’er!"_

\--Wotan, _Die Walküre_ (Richard Wagner, 1870)


	4. Author's Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!"

**Authors Notes**

 

**First of all, in case it isn't obvious: only one of the excerpts in the preceding chapter (the second quote from Canto III of the Lay of Leithian) is taken verbatim without alteration from Tolkien's original text.**

 

**Now, with that out of the way...**

 

Many of my alterations to the existing texts of the Tale of Beren and Lúthien actually have their roots in Celtic and Norse legends, exactly the sort of European mythology which Tolkien admired.

\---

Luthien losing her hair is of course a riff on the story of Rapunzel. In this version, she loses it permanently: a nod to “Sheen Billy,” an oral variant of the medieval Arthurian legend of Sir Caradoc and Lady Guinier, collected by John Francis Campbell in the introduction to volume I of his book _Popular Tales of the West Highlands_ (second edition, 1890).

The “proper” version of the legend of Caradoc Briefbras and Guinier was told by one of the medieval French scribes who continued Chretien de Troyes’ unfinished manuscript of _Perceval, le conte du Graal_ (“Perceval and the Story of the Grail”). In this “First Continuation,” Caradoc is cursed by a sorcerer to have a snake wrap around his right arm and cut off the blood supply.

Caradoc is cured when his beloved lady, Guinier, bathes in a tub of milk, luring the snake to suck at her right breast. Caradoc then kills the snake, but cuts off Guinier’s nipple along with it. Guinier subsequently receives a golden prosthetic breast.

Caradoc himself has his right arm permanently maimed and stunted by the episode, resulting in his nickname _Briefbras_ —“Short Arm.”

Other medieval stories of Arthur’s court suggest that Guinier was the most faithful of all the wives of the Knights of the Round Table; much more so than the famously adulterous Guinevere, for instance.

\---

Luthien breaking her leg when she escapes from the treehouse prison is a detail suggested by the story of Culhwch and Olwen, a story in the medieval Welsh collection of early Arthurian stories, _The Mabinogion_.

Many Tolkien scholars have pointed out that this Welsh folktale was clearly an inspiration for the story of Beren and Luthien. In fact, “Culhwch and Olwen” is actually the oldest known surviving story from the King Arthur mythos, and it was originally transmitted orally before being written down. This likely explains much of Tolkien’s interest in the tale.

\---

Luthien’s bleeding feet are a detail inserted for the sake of parallelism with Beren’s own heroic journey; the fact that she left Doriath without shoes comes from the original text of the Lay.

\---

Likewise, Luthien’s subsequent loss of an eye is a deliberate tip of the hat to the Norse god Odin, the wisest of the Æsir and the lord of Asgard.

Tolkien based Beren’s loss of his right hand to Carcharoth on the similar fate of Tyr, the Norse god of war, who had his hand bitten off when the gods bound the ravening wolf Fenrir. Thus, I figured it would be quite apropos to give Luthien, much the smartest person in the whole story, a corresponding injury which alludes to the one-eyed Norse god of wisdom.

\---

The idea of Luthien turning evil actually comes from a nineteenth-century source: H. Rider Haggard’s 1887 fantasy novel _She: A History of Adventure_. The titular character of Haggard’s novel is the beautiful and terrifying raven-haired immortal queen of the lost city of Kôr: Ayesha, “She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed,” whose love affair with one of the protagonists forms the crux of the overall plot. As Tolkien’s letters reveal, Rider Haggard was one of his all-time favorite authors.

Beren’s most significant injury in the duel with Luthien—his loss of a testicle—is more or less a direct steal from the battle of Horus and Set as described in Egyptian mythology. I figured that it fit well in this scene, given the obvious debt owed by evil-Luthien to Rider Haggard, whose novels (especially _She_ ) frequently draw on ancient Egyptian lore and legend.

\---

Luthien’s payment to Mandos—her one remaining good eye—is a more direct take on the Norse legend of Odin, who willingly gave up one of his eyes, in exchange for a drink from the well of wisdom guarded by the mysterious figure Mimir. In this context, however, Luthien’s resulting total blindness is also an allusion to the Ancient Greek practice of putting two coins on the eyes of a corpse before burial, as payment for Charon the ferryman when the deceased person’s soul crossed the River Styx.

And, of course, Luthien having lost both her eyes **and** her hair incorporates an oblique reference to the Old Testament story of Samson the Israelite strongman, whose loss of his magical hair allowed his enemies to blind him and temporarily subdue him.

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The last section of prose contains an oblique reference to the famous Saint Crispin’s Day speech ( _“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers”_ ) in William Shakespeare’s play _Henry V_.

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As the title suggests, the overall idea for this fic came about from wondering how _The Silmarillion_ would look if it were written by George RR Martin (who shares JRR Tolkien’s habit of taking forever to finish writing his books!).

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Thanks to my beta readers—you know who you are.

ATM

03/25/2015 (revised 04/06/2015)


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